


The Girl from the Diner

by queenheda1



Category: GirlxGirl - Fandom, LGBT - Fandom, lesbian - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenheda1/pseuds/queenheda1
Summary: Two young girls navigate their relationship through simplicities they find in a bubble of innocence in the midst of a rough and tumble world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first work on here. I wrote this a while ago and thought someone else might enjoy it. It's loosely based on personal experiences. Happy reading!

“Why do you like to take pictures?” she asked me.  
Her blonde hair was tangled in my fingers, her head resting on my lap, our bodies pressed against the cold sand.  
“I don’t know. I like capturing life.”  
She nodded her head, my hands continuing to weave and knot her hair.  
“What’s your favorite thing to photograph?” she persisted.  
“You!” I exclaimed, leaning over her head, purposefully blinding her with my hair.  
“Hey!” she stood, running away from me, grabbing my camera in the process.  
“What are you doing?” I laughed, getting up to follow her. She had run a couple feet away, camera poised as I ran towards her, only to tumble in the sand, landing in a heap at her feet.  
She continued to snap pictures, laughing her ass off at me, my sweater covered in sand.  
“Dork,” I muttered as I stood up, attempting to recover my dignity.  
“Nerd.” She replied, putting my camera in its bag and slinging it over her shoulder.  
“And where do you think you’re going?” I smiled as I wrapped my arms around her neck.  
“To the van; not all of us are immune to the cold,” she told me, grinning down at me.  
“We’re at the beach!” I protested.  
“It’s December! Just because there isn’t snow doesn’t mean it’s not winter.”  
“Fine, but we’re not leaving yet.”  
“As you wish, your majesty.” she giggled as I swatted her playfully.  
We grabbed our stuff, walking out to my old van, hair blowing in each other’s faces. Opening the back, we sat on the thick blankets I had laid out with pillows in place of the back seats. She grabbed my computer before I could. As she imported photos, I pretended to read while I watched her. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the screen, her slender fingers artfully moving against the keyboard.  
She turned the screen to face me, displaying the photos she had taken of me. I had thought they would be embarrassing, but instead, I looked the happiest I ever remembered being, mid-run, long hair billowing behind me, a huge grin on my face as I kicked sand at her, then me on the ground, holding my sides from laughter, absolutely covered in sand.  
She smiled at me from above the screen, her brown eyes illuminated. I grabbed it from her, taking one last look at my own green eyes crinkled with a smile on the screen before moving onto the previous pictures. She was beautiful, standing in the sand, half-illuminated by the rising sun, eyes highlighted against her pale cheeks, reddened with cold. Next was a picture of the two of us, taken from the end of my outstretched arm, lips met and eyelashes contrasting darkly against our cheeks. Her hair was highlighted magnificently by the rising glow of dawn.  
“Ew. Stop looking at me. Let’s go get breakfast.” she suggested, throwing a pillow at me.  
We climbed over the seats, me to the steering wheel and her beside me. She collapsed into the seat.  
“What a treacherous journey,” she grinned at me.  
“Quite,” I replied, turning the keys in the ignition.  
The car rumbled to life, reluctant and tired.  
“Shannon lives!” She proclaimed.  
“Shannon?” I asked, turning onto the road.  
“Yes, Shannon,” she replied indignantly. “After all the time I’ve spent in your car, I thought she deserved a name. I’m surprised you hadn’t named her before.”  
“Okay, but Shannon?” I asked, unable to keep a straight face.  
She huffed, turning to the windshield. She couldn’t hold it. She sneaked a glance at me before bursting out into laughter.  
“Shannon lives indeed,” I said, chuckling. “Now get me directions to the fucking restaurant before we end up in Canada.”  
“I hate you,” she muttered, unlocking her phone.  
“Whatever.”  
“Don’t ‘whatever’ me!”  
“Who are you, my mother?” I protested, still giggling.  
“You know what? Maybe I-oh shut up, this is a good song!”  
I shook my head, faking exasperation.  
“What song even is this?”  
“Excuse me? How do you not know ‘Wannabe’?”  
“Oh, Spice Girls?” I tried to remember.  
She shook her head in false disappointment, still swaying to the repetitive beat.  
I turned into the parking lot of a weathered diner, draped in the remnants of the sunrise, ‘Open’ sign flickering weakly in the curtained window. The familiarity of Henry’s was comforting, an old friend welcoming us back. I wrapped the brown leather of my jacket tightly around me as I stepped out of the van, the breeze nipping at my ears.  
“If you take more than five minutes to decide on what you want, I’m leaving you,” she told me, briskly striding ahead into the diner.  
I struggled to keep up. “I’ve been here a million times, I already know what I’m getting!” I called after her.  
“Okay, you say that every time and yet every time you take ten years to order!”  
I scoffed at her exaggeration, following her through the door and into the warmth of Henry’s. The waitress there knew us well by now, smiling as we came in, her weathered eyes glancing over the girl at my side, our chilled fingers intertwined.  
We slid into the worn booth, the table marked with scratches.  
“If you already know what you’re getting, why do you even need a menu?” she whisper-shouted at me.  
“Okay, first of all, you can talk normally, this is not a library. Second of all, I just like to make sure I’ve considered all my options. Maybe I wanted to switch it up on an impulse.” I retorted quickly.  
“I knew it!” She exclaimed. “You do this every time.”  
I scrunched up my eyes at her, shielding the rest of my face with the menu.  
She mouthed swears at me as the waitress approached us with waters, her patterned apron worn with age.  
I waited until she had water in her mouth before muttering under my breath.  
She nearly choked, managing to keep the water in her mouth, swallowing her laugh.  
“What did you say? Did you say what I thought you did?”  
“Maybe.” I retorted, smiling at her.  
“Well I can’t be sure anyways because it sounded like the death gurgle of a cat.”  
“A sound you’re quite familiar with?” I inquired, raising my eyebrows in mock curiosity.  
She groaned in exasperation, covering her eyes with her hair and peeking out through it.  
“Are you girls ready to order?” The waitress was next to us once more.  
“One egg and ham omelet please,” she said with a smile, turning to me with slit eyes. I narrowed mine back at her.  
“And I’ll have a short stack of chocolate chip pancakes please,” I smiled innocently at the waitress, who was grinning at our antics.  
“Coming right up.”  
We were the only two in the diner. The sun, continuing its rise through the window, drew patterns on the tabletop as she took off her oversized coat, revealing the plain blue t-shirt underneath. I watched as she traced the silhouettes on the table with her hands.  
She had beautiful hands, slim and graceful, well kept.  
While she was distracted, I made spitballs under the table, trying not to call attention to myself.  
“Don’t even try it.”  
She hadn’t even looked up from the table.  
“You and your freaky sixth spitball sense,” I muttered, plans foiled. I snuck my camera out of my bag, quickly moving to capture her radiance.  
“Stop! I look gross,” she protested, hearing the shutter click.  
“You make a t-shirt look like it came off the runway in Paris, shut up,” I said quite frankly. I looked at the screen, the photo staring back at me.  
Her hair trailed off her shoulders, rivers of gold framing her face, the sun casting faint shadows off her cheekbones. Through the black of her eyelashes, her eyes shone blue, perfectly matching her t-shirt.  
Her face flushed as she tried to pull the camera out of my hands.  
“Stop it I actually hate you!”  
“Actually?” I grinned. “Are you sure you don’t just hypothetically hate me?”  
As the waitress approached with our breakfast, she mouthed something at me. I couldn’t be totally sure what it was but it looked pretty close to ‘I’m gonna kill you.’  
As she went to take a bite of her omelet, I flung my handful of spitballs that I had kept in her general direction.  
“She shoots, she scores!” I exclaimed as one hit her square in the nose.  
She glared at me before setting down her omelet and scooping up the ripped up pieces of paper. I tensed up, expecting them to be thrown right back at me. Instead, she slipped them into her pocket.  
“For when you don’t expect it.”  
I raised an eyebrow at her, mouth full of chocolate chip pancakes. “Whatever.”  
As we ate, we watched cars pull into the parking lot as the diner began to fill with regulars. We finished quickly, paid, and gave up our table.  
The bite of the wind was sharp as we exited the warmth of Henry’s. Before I could open the door, she sprinted around to the driver’s side and hopped in.  
“Gimme the keys!” She yelled at me, trying to warm her hands as she simultaneously attempted to open the door.  
“Who said you can drive Shannon?” I wrinkled my brow at her.  
“Um, Shannon did,” she sighed. “Duh.”  
I grinned, tossing her the keys and opening the door.  
“Where to?” I asked her as she turned the key into the ignition.  
“You’ll see.”


End file.
